


a mathematical constant

by vindicatedtruth (behindtintedglass)



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtintedglass/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: Sameen is born with the ability to see exactly how dangerous a person is.





	a mathematical constant

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt (originally posted [here](http://writing-prompt-s.tumblr.com/post/168334649005/youre-a-regular-office-worker-born-with-the))
> 
> _"You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10."_

 

 

Sameen blinks when she sees the number hovering over Harold Finch for the first time.

John Reese, despite his seemingly gentlemanly manner, is someone she already clocks as lethal the moment she sees him.  **_7_** flashes warningly over his head, like a blinking bomb waiting to be detonated by the right person.

It doesn’t take her long to realise who has that power, when he sees who he’s with.  Who he’s working for.

Who they _all_ eventually ended up working for.

Root, for her part, is a notch higher than John—a brighter, bloodier **_8_** swaying with her well-kept brunette curls—because despite the fact that John’s more physically dangerous and volatile in a fight, Root doesn’t have the same moral compass that he has.

Sameen looks into the mirror and doesn’t really mind that she’s a notch lower than John and a couple of digits lower than Root, the **_6_** sitting primly atop her ponytail, because if she’s to be honest with herself, most of the time she just… doesn’t care.  She agrees to certain jobs only if they’re interesting, because the thrill of the hunt, the chase (and, until very recently, the _kill_ ) is better than being bored.  

(She hates inaction.  She likes knowing she’s out there initiating change, especially when the stupidity of people are too annoying to ignore.)

She wonders what motivation Joss Carter has for having the same number as hers and yet electing to be on the _side_ of the law.  Perhaps that’s her real danger: her refusal to allow _anyone_ to be above the law—not even her own team.

Lionel Fusco isn’t really a wimp for being a median **_5_**.  He just… fends for himself, regardless of the consequences of his actions for self-preservation.  She supposes she can’t really take it against him, when he has a son to look after. 

(John’s influence is steadily increasing that number to a **_5.85_** though.  Sameen grins at that.)

Control is a solid **_9_** , while Greer is a perfect **_10_** ; her former boss doesn’t have _quite_ the same obsession with playing God as the one who actually wants to bring about a postmodern version of Noah’s arc through the storm of Samaritan.  

Harold, though… Harold is something else.  And Sameen only takes jobs when they’re interesting.

And Harold is quite aninteresting boss to have.

“What’s Harry’s number?” Root inquires innocently, and Sameen rolls her eyes at the blatant attempt to extract the answer from her—for the nth time.

“Why don’t you ask your precious Machine?” Sameen shoots back lazily.

“Awww, no need to be jealous,” Root sing-songs; Sameen gruffly shrugs off Root’s fingers when Root ruffles her hair.  “Even _She_ has her limits.  That’s why I like you, Sameen.”  Root bats her eyelashes imploringly.  “Would it really kill you to tell?”

“No,” Sameen smirks at her.  “But I enjoy watching it kill you not knowing.” 

Root pouts—Sameen knows it’s intended to be cute, and it almost works _—_ but whatever Root’s about to say dies on her open lips when she cocks her head to one side, listening.

“Speaking of God, looks like She has new instructions for me.”  She smiles sweetly and waggles her fingers.  “Bye, sweetheart.”  She pauses, then levels a look to Sameen’s side.  “Later, big lug.”

“I think she likes you, finally,” Sameen muses as soon as Root disappears down the stairs.

“That’s scarier than her hating me,” John drawls in return.

Sameen turns to look at him; he’s cloaked with the serenity and stillness of deep waters, and she knows that if she dives deep it’ll be dense with blood.  She knows because she has the same history; the difference between her and John is that she isn’t bothered by it.  She’s never regretted any of the kills she’s done, because she hasn’t let it chip away at her sanity like he does.

This is why she doesn’t do emotions.  It drives you crazy to care.

John catches her staring and raises an inquiring eyebrow.  Without bothering to prevaricate, Sameen instead chooses to ask directly.  “Aren’t _you_ curious?”

The corner of John’s mouth twitches in amusement.  “It doesn’t matter.  I already know.”

That makes her raise _both_ eyebrows.  “You can’t see the numbers like I can,” she reminds him blithely.  _No one else can,_  her thoughts add privately: her one true curse.

“True,” John concedes, “but you’re in this for the same reason I am.”

Sameen snorts.  “I’m not looking to be a hero, John.”

“No,” John knowingly draws out the syllable, “but you’re here because he’s _different_.”

Sameen stills.  

John smiles, ruffles Bear’s fur with remarkable similarity to the way Root has done with her earlier, and walks over to their waiting boss, who is sitting in front of his computers, fingers flying lightning-fast over the keyboard as he singlehandedly takes command of this digital warfare.

She watches the way John leans over towards the monitors, presumably to take a closer look, yet his body language broadcasts  _protection_ and _possession_ with every gesture.

Sameen smirks.  He doesn’t have to worry; she already knows he’s Harold’s favorite. 

She watches the quadrillion digits of **_pi_**  flashing above Harold’s head, the numbers constantly changing with every blink of her eyes.

John’s right.  She’s here because Harold’s different.

With him, the possibilities are _endless._

 

 

 


End file.
